


Claustrophobia

by Ember



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Claustrophobia, Gen, poor baby isaac can't catch a break D;
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 17:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember/pseuds/Ember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Isaac was first forced into the basement he had been quiet. He knew by this point that his father wasn’t going to give into pleas, or bargaining, or tears. He would later forget why his father had been so angry at him, if it was grades or if he came home late that night, but he would never forget the pinpoints of pain as his father’s fingers clenched into his arm, or the cold look in his eyes, or the way that his father had talked, calmly, so calmly, slowly opening the freezer chest door, a large, rusted thing lying on its back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claustrophobia

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote for the Teen Wolf fanfic contest, and thus isn't explicit or sexual or slashy in any way. I love Isaac so I really wanted to write about him.

Claustrophobia isn’t as uncommon as you might think. It’s simple really, a human reaction. Fear of the dark, fear of losing air. Fear of not being able to get out. Anyone could find the terror of it, given the right circumstances. The horror in it, not knowing when you’re going to escape, if you’re going to escape. It’s something that’s been coded into our DNA, a survival instinct that’s hard to override. The means to survive.  
When Isaac was first forced into the basement he had been quiet. He knew by this point that his father wasn’t going to give into pleas, or bargaining, or tears. He would later forget why his father had been so angry at him, if it was grades or if he came home late that night, but he would never forget the pinpoints of pain as his father’s fingers clenched into his arm, or the cold look in his eyes, or the way that his father had talked, calmly, so calmly, slowly opening the freezer chest door, a large, rusted thing lying on its back.

He let Isaac’s arm go. “I want you to get in.”

The lights were off. The dusty windows shined with gray moonlight, dim enough to allow darkness to cling to the walls. The inside of the freezer was cast in shadows, seemingly bottomless, cold-looking despite the fact that it hadn’t been turned on for years. Isaac’s mother use to keep large items in it, turkey for next week, TV dinners for his dad to make for when she had a late shift, popsicles and ice cream that wouldn’t fit in the upstairs freezer. Streams of cool air would float upwards, prickling his skin and smelling of the ice that coated the sides, so thick he would sometimes scrape it off with his hands just to feel the texture.

Isaac stared down into it, his throat beating to the cadence of his heart. It was barren now, lifeless, the ice melted, not even a wrapper to be found. His eyes flicked towards his father’s hand, settling on the rusted chain in his grasp, so long it was wrapped around the man’s arm. Isaac’s eyes returned to the fridge.

“Now!” his father barked, the calm leaving his voice.

It was the usual progression of punishments. First a counterfeit peace, like the wind before a storm, thick with tension. Isaac never knew how to react, hoping that someday he would learn to respond, to somehow derail his father’s anger. But no matter what he said it always came, hurtling down like a landslide, crushing Isaac beneath his glare. His father’s words would move, as if on the crest of a wave, from peaceful to screaming, tearing down upon him, things thrown to the ground, things thrown at him.

So, Isaac knew better now. Maybe this was the answer, to do what was expected of him. And don’t be fooled; Isaac knew what this meant, what was about to happen. But even with the months of evidence and experience, he still couldn’t quite accept it. His heart still held out for the happy man his father once was, cheering for the swimming team on the sidelines, cheerfulness that wasn’t poisoned with a hateful edge.

Isaac slowly stepped into the fridge and lowered himself, careful of his actions as one is around a large animal, like his father was some boar or bear that could be set off with any quick movements. He laid down flat on his back, his arms to his sides, the imagery of the coffins he dug for floating into his mind. He tried to halt his thoughts as his father slammed the lid shut and he was left in darkness. Sounds of chains clanging against the sides of the fridge, wrapped round and round, clashed against his ears. The inside smelled of dust and mildew. His breath began to quicken, shallow huffs that seemed to catch in his throat.

Silence rang out for a minute or two. Isaac could still hear his father’s heavy breathing, muffled by the freezer door.

“Dad?” he asked, voice catching.

Heavy footsteps retreated and Isaac heard the basement door slam shut. He listened for a while. After a few minutes he tested the lid gently, wary of rattling the chains in case his father should hear. It didn’t budge. He pressed his shoulder blades down and pushed with all his might, straining, the chains shivering at the tension. Nothing. He tried to make room for his legs to push up, but the space was cramped and he was only able to use his knees. After a few moments he realized that it was useless.

He was calm at first, at peace almost. The punishment couldn’t last very long. His father would come back soon, any minute now, and let him out. That though kept him going through the first hour, a mantra he repeated silently. By the second hour his legs began to cramp, his back a solid line of pain from the hard bottom of the freezer. Every jerk of his body seemed to be followed by a bruise, and he knew his back was going to be a map of purple and black tomorrow. It wasn’t until the third hour that he began to doubt.

Panic started sticking to his lungs like black tar, making it harder and harder to breathe. What if his father never let him out? Dread sped up his thoughts, racing through his veins, filling him with desperation. No one would even hear his screams, his last dying words. He began to wheeze, the stale air brushing against his lips. Would the neighbors notice? Would they even care? Pain lighted along his back as his chest contracted with his heavy breaths. Would his teachers, so quick to look away from his black eyes and limping figure, would they even call and ask where he was?

Isaac began to scratch along the lid, the sides, scrambling to escape, his instincts pitching his action into a fury of movement. The inside of the freezer was smooth to the touch.

What would they say when his body was finally discovered, a rotting corpse hidden in the darkness of his basement? Perhaps he would be the talk of the town, the next big thing since the Hale house burned down. The poor Lahey kid, whose father went mad after his wife and eldest son died. Who killed his youngest, slowly suffocating his son to death one night while he sat upstairs and drank himself to sleep.

Isaac’s fingernails scratched harder, grazing the plastic confines of his white coffin. He could feel the warmth of his blood as the nails began to tear and break, smell the copper of his panic, leaving thin lines of crimson as he clawed frantically.

What if he didn’t suffocate to death? What if he had to starve? No, he’d read about that before. It took days to starve. He’d die of dehydration first. Already he could feel his throat constrict, dry and callous, an arid lining of flesh. Spots of light pricked his vision. Tears ran down the side of his face, mingling with the sweat now coating his skin. He felt clammy and cold, yet suddenly too hot, as if in a fever.

“Dad, let me out!” he screamed coarsely, the words scratching at his throat.

He could take the hitting, or yelling, anything but this. His fingers moved faster, more frantic. His mangled nails began to grow thicker, longer, sharper. His vision went red, and he could see every detail clearly. Every etch his fingers created, every smear of blood. He could hear the water heater pump mechanically, could smell the cobwebs and rat droppings. Every prick of sweat along his skin, he felt each individual drop. His eyes became bright amber, his teeth grew long and sharp, and he roared into the darkness

Isaac woke panting, scrambling against the blanket plastered onto his sweat laced skin. He tore the thick coverlet, clawing straight through it in a bid to escape. Ribbons of fabric surrounded him when he finally calmed down. He looked around him, breath steadily calming, and noticed his surroundings. Dark, yes, but not a box to entrap him, not a cage to give him a slow death. He scanned the walls, decrepit and molding, but far away. He could breathe. He could leave. He decided to do so.

He didn’t walk far, just to the entrance of the train warehouse. He knew better then to leave the ‘den,’ as he (not so) affectionately liked to call it. Hunters roamed the streets at night. Boyd and Erica had always had a home to go to, beds to sleep in, safe with the knowledge that their human families would stop the hunters from entering. Isaac had no such comfort of safety. He allowed his wolf to take over, listening for anyone who may be hiding in the shadows. He could only hear one other heartbeat, one quiet breath, and the familiar scent was immediately placed. Derek was awake as well.  
“I’m not buying you a new blanket,” the alpha said calmly as Isaac stepped into the unnatural light. He was sitting on the wooden trunk filled with various chains and devices to keep the pack from escaping during full moons. His back was to Isaac.

The beta’s eyebrows raised, and he checked his fingernails for any trace of cloth. It quickly dawned on him that Derek had probably heard the fabric ripping. “I didn’t tear it up that badly. It’s still an okay blanket.”

“Good,” was Derek’s only reply. He didn’t turn back as he spoke, instead choosing to continue to stare into the darkness in a way that Isaac had originally found to be enigmatic, but now just found annoying. Actually, that described a lot of what the alpha did; cryptic glares and words that were supposedly filled with deep meaning and wisdom. Isaac was beginning to learn better now. He walked up to his ‘fearless leader,’ coming to stand by his side. Decided to stare into the darkness too.

An uncomfortable silence enveloped them.

“Where’s Peter?” Isaac asked, the need to break the tension stronger than his actual curiosity. He didn’t know anything about the werewolf, other than Scott’s brief retelling of Peter’s killing spree and eventual death via Derek’s claws, which apparently hadn’t been permanent. Isaac wasn’t sure of the newcomers position in the pack.

“I don’t know.” Derek’s voice was clipped, and it was obvious that was the end of any Peter discussion.

Isaac hesitated. “Do you know where Erica and Boyd are?” he asked, voice low and attempting for nonchalant.

Derek turned his head this time to glare at him. “No.” That discussion was even more finished than the Peter one.

Isaac looked down to his hands. They were clasped tight, the knuckles pale. He couldn’t help but mutter, “Do you think they’re okay?” How close he had been to joining them. He still wasn’t sure if he made the right choice or not, staying behind.

Derek stood slowly, his expression grim and eyes inscrutable. “I don’t know,” he answered, leaning against a decaying pillar. This time his tone was different, less unforgiving, more real. More human.

Isaac’s father had a tone like that, when they got news that his brother Camden was wounded in combat.  


_“Is he going to be all right, Dad?”_

“I don’t know.”

His brother hadn’t been all right, and that had just added to nothing being all right. Nothing since Isaac’s mother had died. Nothing since his father became more and more focused on the swim team, every victory a personal win, every loss a personal insult. But his dad could still be happy up until then. Genuinely happy. That didn’t happen after they got the official confirmation of Camden’s death, leading up to the day his father was ripped apart. Never once, not even once.

“My brother joined the army,” Isaac said onto the darkness, startled by his own words.

Derek turned to him and raised an eyebrow. He stood perfectly still, his legs slightly apart, his stance strong. He never fidgeted, a wall of stone as he stared and contemplated Isaac’s words.

Isaac shuffled side to side before he began again. “My brother joined the army, and my father was really proud. Like, ridiculously proud, that his son joined the army. Everyone was always congratulating him about it. It didn’t really matter that Camden’s grades weren’t as good as mine, or that he only did it because no major college would accept him. Everyone was really proud that he decided to join the army.

“And when he died everyone was really upset. We kept getting these gift baskets and food, way too much food for us to eat, but people just kept bringing it. We should have given the left overs to the shelter, but somehow it just ended up in our trash. My dad took off from work for two weeks. He would just sit in the house, not saying anything. I lived off that food for those two weeks, until it stopped coming.”

Everyone had always liked Camden more, because Camden was the athletic one, the charming one who always had a date. Isaac was sure that in the army he had been just as popular, just as likable to his troop mates. Just like with Erica and Boyd. Erica was strong, and confident, and so very proud of what she was. Boyd had been stable, and knowledgeable, smirking at their ignorance.

But it had been Isaac who could handle the wolf, that first full moon. He had been the only one strong enough to grasp his emotions and control that part of him. Erica and Boyd couldn’t do that. And he was the one who was left with Derek now, all alone with the broken leader without a pack. Who only had Isaac. And perhaps a psychotic uncle, though he wasn’t completely sure on that.

Isaac shook his head. “My father wasn’t proud of me, like he was Camden. I know that. He probably never would have been, no matter what I amounted to.”

Another sheet of silence settled icily upon their shoulders.

After a few minutes Derek walked forward and patted Isaac’s shoulder. “Try to get some sleep,” he said, before padding away.  


Isaac stood there for a while. To be honest, he didn’t know what he had expected Derek to say to him. A word of comfort? An admission of pride for Isaac’s loyalty? Or perhaps, even more stupid than anything else, to be told that everything was going to be okay. Even though Erica and Boyd were missing, and they had no idea what the hunters were going to do next, not to mention there was a pack of alphas to add to the list of people who wanted to murder them. Really, how did he expect Derek to react?

Realization snapped forward with a sickening jolt, and suddenly Isaac was all too aware of how the alpha was reacting. The look in Derek’s eyes, the one he had thought inscrutable? Far from it. It was almost too close to home, something so familiar it had been easy to miss. Or perhaps that wasn’t right. Maybe Isaac hadn’t wanted to see it up until now. He had blocked it from his thoughts, refused to accept what the alpha’s eyes held, perhaps since they had first met within the cemetery that horrifying night, when Isaac had learned just how real monsters were.

Desperation.

Not knowing what to do, where to go from here. It had been a look his father’s eyes had held, so many times. It was a look that was entirely too human.

Isaac stared down to his fingernails, now perfectly straight and healthy. Watched as they grew into claws, yellow and thick, sharpened to a deadly edge. It didn’t matter though. The added strength, the heightened senses. He couldn’t escape his nightmares now, even if he was one. His breath caught at the thought.

Claustrophobia is a very human reaction. Given the correct set of circumstances, anyone could feel the horror of it. The fear.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to follow my updates on tumblr, I have an account [here](http://ember-to-ash.tumblr.com/) solely for that. This won't be used for anything but my fanfictions if you're worried about spam!


End file.
